Not Tonight
by EvanescingSky
Summary: Lavellan is back at Skyhold and Solas thinks he's getting lucky.


Lavellan had returned from some weeks on the road earlier that day. The clamor of activity within Skyhold always took on a certain pitch when the Inquisitor was returning and Solas hadn't been able to stop himself from smiling to his books as he heard it rise up—Lavellan was back, and he would see her again soon.

As usual, his intuition was correct, and the Inquisitor came promptly to the main hall, where he emerged from the rotunda to meet her. Ostensibly, she spoke to all her companions as she explained to Leliana what had happened and what they had achieved, but he did not miss how her eyes continually moved in his direction. It should not have pleased him as much as it did, the idea that he held Lavellan's attention so completely, but if anyone thought his smug air was out of place from his usual attitude, they did not say so.

"It is good to see you again, _lethallin_," she said in a low, sweet voice when she had finished with her report.

"I am glad to see you returned safely," he replied, giving her that little hint of a smile, with a softness in his eyes reserved for no one else but her.

"Have you any stories for me, Solas?"

"I always do, _ma vhenan_." The smile that broke across her tired, sun-worn cheeks shot an aching pain through his chest, as if his heart were not used to beating that way anymore. "Would you like to hear something about the old elven libraries?"

"I would," she agreed. "But first, I must see to the Orlesians who have come to offer us support." Through her sigh, her could see her gathering her strength for the demands ongoing. She lifted her gaze to him and he was sorely tempted to tell her other tasks to jump in a lake, and sweep her off to a quiet meadow where they could dream in peace. Unfortunately, the end of the world was a pressing matter, so he would do better not to drag her away from her work. "Later," she promised, distracted. Possibly, he thought, with fantasies such as his own. "You might come by my room, when all this is done," she offered, and he caught a glimmer of that look in her eyes she had had in the Emerald Graves before clothes started coming off. It was not a look she gave often. He suppressed a smirk.

"If you ask it of me, Inquisitor, I will be there," he said, giving her a slight bow. Lavellan smiled again and he almost reached out to touch her cheek, but refrained, as they were still in front of others. "I look forward to it."

"As do I. Perhaps when you come, I will have a story for you too," she said, flashing a tiny, teasing smile before turning and striding off to her next appointments.

Smugness redoubled, Solas returned to his desk to pretend to read and spend the next several hours thinking about what he and Guinevere might do when they were alone. The day passed entirely too slowly, the Inquisitor consumed with tasks, and Skyhold bustling like an anthill. Dorian called down a question about barrier draining to him from over the railing in the library, and they discussed the nature of such spells until they were scolded for shouting where people were trying to read. The afternoon came soon, and with much pacing and impatient flipping through books, began to bleed into evening. Solas tried to work on the mural, but he could not focus on that. Reading had been an absolute failure, and trying to repair a hole in his leggings went only mildly better. He prided himself on his ability to focus, but Lavellan had snatched that out of his hands as readily as she had taken his sense of reason and determination to remain detached from this world. What else would he surrender to her before they were done?

What else was he willing to give?

When dusk came, he idled around his study a while more, achieving even less than he had earlier in the day, until at last it seemed late enough to pay Lavellan a call. Perhaps she had not yet eaten, and they might dine together before retiring for the night—it was a pleasant thought. Most often, Solas ate alone, as was his habit.

A pause at the peak of her quarters' staircase allowed him to hear the shuffle of papers and the careful scratching of her quill. Writing as the humans used it was not something the Dalish often put to use, but as a first, she had been trained. Ambassador Montilyet, however, disapproved of how childish the Inquisitor's script looked, and often had her missives and letters re-copied in a more professional hand.

"Is this a bad time, Inquisitor?" He spoke quietly, but her head jerked up as soon as she heard him and a slow smile spread across her face. At once, he could feel a similar look pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"No, it's perfect," she said. "These can wait, it's nothing urgent." She touched the papers as she rose. "A letter from the keeper came—they're traveling north for now."

"How was the Western Approach?" he asked.

"Very hot," she replied, touching one dark cheek. "We all got sunburned. I wish Dorian had come, I'm sure he has a spell for that. But it was best for him to respond to the missives from Tevinter. We need all the support there we can get."

"You're truly starting to think like the Inquisitor," Solas remarked, taking slow steps across her room. "Leliana and Ambassador Montilyet must be pleased."

"Am I? I suppose I am." Lavellan shook her head and dragged her thumb over the _vallaslin_ on her chin. Solas fought the urge to wrinkle his nose, as he often did when she touched her facial tattoos. _Ghilan'nain and all her beasts_, he thought bitingly. She did not deserve to brand Lavellan's face. "Keeper Deshanna would be pleased as well."

"And you? How are you feeling?" He stood before her, contentment washing over him after more than a week without her conversation, followed by some wonder that her mere presence could satisfy him so well. Unpleasant surprises were something he was used to, after tarrying long in the company of the Evanuris. But Lavellan was something altogether different—something of this world that he _enjoyed_. That, he was not prepared for at all.

"Tired," she declared with a fitting smile. "But we did good work at the Approach, and…it's good to see you again_._" The affection in her eyes very nearly made him weak at the knees.

"I am pleased to see you as well, Guinevere." This time, he did not hold back from brushing his fingers over her cheek. Her eyes fluttered shut a moment and she swayed towards him, so he wound an arm around her to pull her in closer. "Skyhold is not the same when you are away," he murmured, a smile quirking his lips. Lavellan's weight against his chest felt secure, like being wrapped in a warm blanket. His arms circled her waist and he heard a low sigh pass her lips.

"It's almost starting to feel like home," she joked, peeling herself off to look up at him. "Perhaps I'll keep the castle when all this is done!"

"Will you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh no, I could never live in a place of stone," she said, shaking her head. "I miss the aravels. The wind, the grass, the open sky…Skyhold is beautiful, but we're here for a purpose."

"One that you are accomplishing admirably so far," he said.

"Oh, we'll see about that," Lavellan sighed, turning her face away as a yawn came over her.

"I can think of no one better suited to the job," he said, tilting her chin upwards.

"No one?" she asked, a disbelieving smirk pulling at her lips. "I very much doubt that, _hahren_."

"It's true," he insisted, failing to keep a straight face.

"How you tease me!" She clapped her hands against his chest, but did not pull from his embrace.

"Well. Other names might have come to mind first, but that was before I saw how well you've done_, da'len_." Lavellan's face was still in a moue, so he leaned in to kiss her cheek, and then the bridge of her nose, and then her chin, before he laid gentle claim to her lips. That melted her and she relaxed in his arms again. "I don't tease," he said then.

"No! You terrible liar!" She tried to stop the smile from reaching her face, but couldn't resist a bubble of laughter. "You tell tales like that, and the Dread Wolf will hunt you down!"

"Will he indeed?" Solas asked, his little smirk threatening to turn into a grin.

"Yes, he will! And what will I do then, hm? Come rescue you from the clutches of the Dread Wolf?"

"I suppose you would have to. Not many are brave enough to do such a thing, though."

"You doubt that I would?" There was a taste of defiance in the thrust of her chin, the way her typically temperate gaze grew firmer. "_Ma vhenan_, if I needed to pull you from Fen'harel's jaws myself, I would."

"I'm sure he would tremble in your presence," Solas said softly, touching her face, tracing his fingers along her cheek with a feather-light touch.

"Good." Her eyes flicked away, as though embarrassed by her brief intensity, and Solas leaned in to take her lips again. She tilted her face up and reached her arms up around his neck. "It _is_ good to see you again," she sighed when they separated.

"Will we go together, next time you leave Skyhold?"

"Yes, of course," she said, and kissed him again. She sank into the kiss and he held her up, tasting the traces of mead on her lips and losing himself in the warmth of her arms. Was there anything outside of this, outside Guinevere and her honeyed voice and tender heart? He tightened his grip on her until he had nearly lifted her onto her toes. A quiet groan sounded in her throat and Solas began to guide her over to the bed. She flopped back onto the mattress, stretching and squirming with apparent relish at being in the plush bed again. Solas climbed over her and let her kiss kindle that particular flame within him. There was always one, with Gwen—usually it burned soft and round, like the familiar flicker of a candle, but there were times it became a wildfire—when he saw a Red Templar strike her down, or when he watched her wade into the river to wash her clothes. Or now, looking at her splayed out beneath him with the light of the fireplace reflecting in her eyes, stripped down to the last of her clothing, her fingers hooked behind his neck.

Another kiss, and Lavellan pushed him down in her place. He sat with his back against the pillows as she trailed kisses along his jaw, and he slid his hands along her thighs and hips and further back, delighting in the feel of her after many days apart, quietly reveling in the pleasant weight of her on his lap. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and lavished it with kisses, nibbling along the tender flesh. Lavellan relaxed and stilled under his touch, her breathing slow and steady. It took him several moments to realize this was not the suppressed pleasure of a titillated lover, but simply the rhythmic breathing of one who had fallen asleep.

"Guinevere?" Chagrined, but unable to wholly suppress his amusement, Solas almost went to jostle her awake, then held back. The poor woman was exhausted, and he couldn't fault her for it. She had gone from being second-in-command of a small Dalish clan to heading up a cross-border paramilitary organization tasked with slaying a pseudo-god and stopping his attempt to bring ruin upon the world within the span of a few months.

Solas was contemplating rearranging the pillows behind him in a more comfortable way when Lavellan jolted herself awake with a low gasp.

"Did I fall asleep?" She drew back to look at him. "Oh, Creators. I'm so sorry." A groan rumbled in her throat, of a far different sort than she had been giving before falling asleep, and she rubbed her eyes vigorously with the heels of her hands. "I'm so sorry. It wasn't you." Color began to rise in her face, pink suffusing the deep brown of her cheeks.

"Are you sure?" He couldn't pass up the chance to tease her a little. "If I'm boring you, Guinevere, you ought to say so."

"No, I'm just so _tired_!" Her hands ceased rubbing at her eyes to cover her face. "I didn't mean to, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," he said with a quiet laugh. "You need the rest, clearly."

"I thought I would have enough energy for this." Lavellan shook her head, swiping loose hair from her face.

"You should take the chance to rest while you have it," he said with a more serious note in his voice, rubbing her side. "I'm sure you'll be on the road again soon." Lavellan sighed and slumped against him, pressing her face into his shoulder.

"Yes, I probably will." Another groan and she nuzzled his shoulder like she could use him to block out the rest of world. "But you will be with me then." When she drew back, her tone was triumphant, as if she'd made some kind of rejoinder.

"And when I go with you, we will walk in distant places again," he said, looking forward to more nights spend Fade-walking with Lavellan in the far corners of Thedas. If only they did not have to wake to their worldly responsibilities. It was easy to lose oneself in the Fade, especially in the memories—he suspected it would be all the easier with her by his side. "But for now, you should sleep." As neatly as he could, he slid her off his lap onto the bed.

"I should," she agreed reluctantly, rising to put out her candles. "Will you stay?" she asked, when she had returned to bed and slid under the covers. Solas, tensed to rise from the bed and leave her to her rest, paused.

"If you wish it, of course," he replied. They spent so little time in her room, the etiquette for it was not clear. But sleeping there with Lavellan—well, it was far more appealing than returning to his own small room to sleep alone. He put aside the wolf's jaw necklace and cast off his tunic to join her under the covers, Lavellan fitted against the curve of his body, one arm around her waist.

"Goodnight, Solas," she murmured, putting her hand over his.

"Goodnight, _ma vhenan_," he replied, placing a kiss on her shoulder. "Dream well."


End file.
